


down here on my knees

by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, to say the least, gets distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	down here on my knees

**Author's Note:**

> Filthy porn, yo! Not really. Not that filthy. I don't know what I'm doing.
> 
> [This was originally on Tumblr.](http://thenemeton.tumblr.com/post/81872487846/lydias-hair-is-everywhere-trailing-down-her-back)
> 
> Title taken from "Follow Me Down" by The Pretty Reckless.

Lydia’s hair is everywhere, trailing down her back and falling over her part and curling desperately in the humidity their bodies have created. It clings to the back of her neck and it’s sticking to her arm right now and she’s biting her lip hard, slow-grinding her hips against his.

 

Stiles doesn’t think there will ever be a more beautiful sight again throughout all of time and space.

 

He sort of really fucking loves this, when Lydia just gets  _intense_ and she wants to get off so bad she can’t even look at him, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open when it isn’t under assault from her straight, white teeth. She took off her bra the moment he shut the door but she still has her pink camisole on, her chest bouncing in rhythm with every move she makes. It’s like watching art, the most beautiful and sexy art ever, like, if this was a painting he would roll around in it or something, he wants —

 

Lydia’s movements speed, and her hands tighten on his chest, her fingers raking across his nipples through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Neither of them are prepared for Stiles’ sharp inhale, or the way he bucks his hips.

 

Her body falls sideways until Lydia is on her butt at his side, one leg still awkwardly thrown over him. For a moment she looks dazed, still ebbing away from near-orgasm thoughts, but her face switches on between one moment and the next, eyeing him like he’s been keeping secrets.

 

"Wanna share?"

 

Stiles swallows hard, head hitting the pillow as he stares at the ceiling. “Nope, no, not at all, I’m completely, totally — “

 

Lydia cuts him off by literally  _flicking_ him, flicking his nipple, god damn, he  _wheezes._ He doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s smirking, but he’ll be damned if he gives her the satisfaction of him seeing it. Despite his desire to give her whatever she wants at any given moment. He’s not weak, he isn’t.

 

(He maybe is).

 

"You told me they didn’t do anything for you."

 

"Maybe I lied!" He throws his hands up. "It’s embarrassing, okay, like, sometimes I’ll just walk out in a shirt and all of the sudden bam, friction, I’m gone."

 

Lydia tilts her head thoughtfully. “Is that why you always wore those baggy shirts before?”

 

Stiles gives her the dirtiest look ever. She’s completely enjoying this.

 

When he opens his mouth to actually explain that, however, Lydia is already grabbing at the hem of her cami and sliding it over her head, which, yeah. Stiles, to say the least, gets distracted. He’s probably never going to get over the way Lydia looks when she’s topless. She spends a ton of time on her skin and it shows — it’s almost perfectly smooth, save for the scar on her side from where Peter bit her. 

 

He never lets his eyes linger there, though sometimes he kisses her there when she’s orgasm-drunk and half-asleep. Just as a reminder that she’s still here, still with him.

 

She gets his shirt halfway off before he starts making confused noises, though he helps her get it off. “What are you —  _hnn,_ what, fuck.” 

 

Lydia has tossed his shirt to the side and is now thumbing delicately over his left nipple, a studied expression gracing her features.

 

Stiles’s back hits the mattress as he tries not to whimper.

 

Lydia moves to straddle him again, circling one perfectly manicured nail around his right nipple as she goes. His breathing is shallow, chest hardly moving.

 

She raises an eyebrow. “All that holding back can’t be good for you,” Lydia murmurs, almost with disinterest, as she lies across him, sliding down to take one nipple in her mouth. Stiles feels like the moan has been stolen from him, punched out by her very very unfair mouth.

 

There’s really no holding back after that.

 

Somewhere between breaths his fingers end up tangled in her hair, and Lydia’s tongue flickers back and forth, easy as anything, while her thumb stays busy across the valley of his chest. He’s never — fuck, fuck,  _fuck —_

 

"Fuck. Lydia, fuck, oh my god, you — you can’t just,  _huhhhhhhhhhhhh oh my god._ ”

 

Lydia sits up to breathe, and his nipple pebbles against the colder air.

 

"Get the lube, Stilinski."

 

The moment she calls him by his last name, his mind clicks into place. It’s gotten effortless, slipping into her headspace and giving her what she needs. What they  _both_ need. He scrambles for the dresser drawer, grabbing the half-used bottle of lube and watching as she unbuttons and unzips his jeans, licking his lips once, and then again.

 

She wastes no time in getting him naked, sitting there in only her pink satin panties, easy as anything. He hands her the lube and slides his hands down to grab his knees, only for hers to stop him.

 

"Leave your hands free," she says with a wicked little smile, eyes bright in the dim light of the room. He obeys.

 

Lydia lifts his legs to her shoulders, and Stiles groans. This is going to be so  _good._ He’s so ready.

 

"If you squeeze my head, Stilinski, you wont come. Not tonight." Stiles hadn’t even been paying attention up until that point. It’s only when she gives him the rules that he realizes he’s fucking  _hard,_ leaking onto his own stomach. 

 

Damn it, he wants to come.

 

He hears the lube being uncapped and the slick sound as Lydia coats her fingers before there’s one at his rim, teasing him open deftly as ever. She always goes slow on the first finger, but he doesn’t mind, because the next comes hard and fast, punching a low moan from his mouth and making his hands tighten against the blankets.

 

"Now," she begins, brushing a third finger at his entrance, "I know you touch them when you jerk off."

 

Lydia has stopped moving altogether. Stiles whines, shifting his hips until she bites his inner thigh. It elicits a gasp that she ignores entirely.

 

"Yeah," he admits, thighs trembling slightly. 

 

"Do it again.  _Right now._ ”

 

Fuck, fuck,  _fuck._ He slides his hands up the bed and to his own chest. The moment his fingertips brush a nipple her fingers are moving again, fucking him thoroughly as she slides a third finger inside. Her fingers aren’t the longest, aren’t like his, but her middle finger still brushes his prostate every time she curls them inside him. The first time this matches up with a slow pass across his nipple, he chokes on a whine, just barely catching Lydia’s sharp smile in the dizzying light.

 

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," he groans as they trip into a rhythm. Lydia kisses his shaking thigh. 

 

"Is that all you know how to say?"

 

"Uhn," is all Stiles replies as she fucks him harder, a smooth, small hand sliding between his legs and wrapping around his dick.

 

"Holy fuck, holy  _fuck,_ Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.” He can’t stop saying her name, can’t  _ever_ stop saying her name, he’s 2 seconds from coming so hard he loses brain cells and all he can think of is her name.

 

"Come on, Stilinski," she murmurs, and he comes with a stuttering whine that chokes out into a silent shout.

 

Later, Lydia will tell him he was still mouthing her name. In the meantime, she gets herself off via his thigh as Stiles murmurs sleepy encouragements, still covered in his own come.

 

After she lies down a while, and directly after she manages to towel him off and cover them back up with the blanket, he presses his mouth to the hollow behind her ear, legs tangled between hers. 

 

"M’sorry I didn’t tell you."

 

Lydia laughs gently, flicking his side somewhat awkwardly from her position as the little spoon. 

 

"I’m just mad you probably told Scott first."

 

Stiles doesn’t argue; he called Scott the moment he found out, at 2 am when they were like, thirteen. Needless to say he was a lot less pleased than Lydia had been.

 

"He didn’t make me come m’brains out tho."

 

Lydia sighs. “Go to sleep, Stilinski.”

 

It still sends a zing through him hearing her say it, and he kisses her shoulder. Fifteen year old him used to fantasize all the time about fucking Lydia, but the truth?

 

Lydia fucking him is sometimes 100000 times more awesome.


End file.
